Meet the Muse

HRR has a fun relationship with her pipe-smoking muse. Enjoy!

Let Me Tell You the Story of...

“Pah! You’ve never had such adventure. How do you expect to write about space warriors or musketmen if you’ve never been one?” He leans over a bit and lights a pipe, but as he puffs the smoke has no scent. He’s not exactly real. He’s a figment, a muse.

Or so he’s led me to believe. Otherwise this smoke crap’s going to make me sick one day.

I type with nimble fingers despite his prodding. “If you’re such a stone-cold killer, why don’t you tell me how to write this? Get through this battle scene so I can go on with the politics I’m better at?”

“I will! I am your muse, after all. I’m also better at politics than you, so you can rely on me to help with that.” He clears his throat, straightens his bow tie, and puffs on his pipe. “Now, let me point you to…

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I Can’t be Shackled

Balroop submitted the first poetic response. I hope you enjoy meeting her muse.

***

“Welcome home,” I hope your adventures are no longer alluring for you.

“Please don’t close that door,” she sprawled on the couch, hardly paying any attention to my smile.

A cold sweep almost knocked me over, and I closed the door.

“Do you want to asphyxiate me?” She leaped toward the French window to get out into the patio and collapsed on the loveseat.

Teenage tantrums don’t sway me. I buried myself into the murder mystery that was more interesting than her shenanigans.

“I know those thoughts! Don’t mess with me; consider me as your blessing. Don’t try to tie me to your strings.”

I looked up in awe, as she spouted:

(Continue reading: I Can’t be Shackled)

Me, My Muse, And Roleplay

Elsie and Ambrose try to convince their muse that video games is part of writing. Enjoy. 🙂

cosistories

Author’s Note: Diana at Mythos of the Mirror has a new prompt: Meet The Muse! The rules are simple. Post a conversation with your muse on your blog and then leave a link to your post in the comment section of Diana’s post here. There is no word limit. Just keep it family friendly and have fun!

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Isellta walks over to the bartender and asks for a hot toddy. He pauses. “What exactly is a hot toddy?” 

The bartender guffaws and said—–

“What are you doing?” my muse asked me.

“I’m writing. Go away.”

He stepped over to my side and peered at my computer screen through his wire-rimmed glasses. “You’re on Discord.” He made it sound like I was on the fast boat to Hell.

“Yeah? So? I’m writing.”

The bartender guffaws and—–

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re roleplaying with your characters.”

“Still counts as…

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meet the muse

Vivienne’s muse is both an editor and source of inspiration. I hope you enjoy their conversation. 🙂

Dragons Rule OK. V.M.Sang (author)

This post is in response to D.Wallace Peach who had a discussion with her muses. To read her discussion click here.

Image by sipa from Pixabay

I was sitting at my computer yesterday when the door opened. I didn’t look up because I assumed it was my husband coming in to work on his computer.

I felt the person stop behind me and look at my work. I knew this wasn’t my husband because he never reads what I’m typing. I turned and saw, standing behind me, a beautiful red-headed young woman.

“What the… ?”

“That’s not right. She wouldn’t do that. You need to rewrite that paragraph.”

“That’s the best paragraph I’ve written in ages. I’m not deleting it.”

“I’m not telling you to delete it, just to rewrite it. You can save it for another time. Another story. It doesn’t fit in here.” She tossed her long…

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A-Muse-ing

Ready for a laugh? Visit with Suzanne and her muse. Enjoy.

mydangblog

This week, D. Wallace Peach of  Myths of the Mirror challenged her readers to write about their muses. She has many, all with distinct personalities, and the one who appeared to her cut quite an imposing figure. My muse, on the other hand, isn’t corporeal, doesn’t have a name, and annoys the hell out of me.

Cue frenetic electric guitar.

A screaming howl rising to a crescendo.

I can’t stand it, I know you planned it…

Me (groggy): What the f*ck…?
Muse: Hello!
Me: Why are you making me listen to Sabotage at 3 o’clock in the morning?!
Muse: You weren’t asleep anyway. You had an idea and you need to write it down.
Me: No, it’s fine. I’ll remember it in the morning.
Muse: No you won’t. Write it down.
Me: It was only two damned lines. I’ll remember it.
Muse: That’s what you said last time. Then you…

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Musings From The Kitchen #prompt #shortfiction

Geoff has a serious and sentimental side, but not this time where his quirky sense of humor shines. Enjoy meeting his muses.

TanGental

Diana Peach at Myths Of The Mirror has prompted us to write about our muse. But what if…

It had been a heck of a day. So many interruptions, but finally I’d settled down to write. That’s when the door bell went.

Mumbling ‘not another bloody parcel,’ I opened the door.

Two men, vaguely familiar in so far as the ski slope nose on one and the beetled brows on the other seemed to chime with some memory, stood, hands lightly clasped in front like mourners at a funeral.

‘Hello? Can I…?’

‘…‘Elp? I should think so, wouldn’t you Johnson?’

‘Hindeed, Johnston I would think so.’

‘Very much.’

Not sure where this was going I thought I’d wait. They could have been brothers, similar builds, and round faces. Or it might have been the matching dark suits, white shirts and sober ties. There was something rather creepy about…’

‘’E don’t…

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Dig a Little Deeper- Advice from my sardonic/wise muse #amwriting #writingcommunity #writingchallenge

Jacquie’s muse gives her a pep talk, something a lot of writer’s seem to need during these troubled times. Enjoy!

Jacquie Biggar-USA Today Best-selling author

Advice from a Sardonic wise Muse

Diana Peach from Myths of the Mirror has kindly opened her blog to guests with a challenge to write a short story about your muse. Here’s mine:

“It’s your turn.”

I nod absently and continue staring at the board as though the answer is going to appear any time and if I look away for even a millisecond it’ll be gone forever. “I know, just give me a minute, will you?”

“A minute wouldn’t be bad. You’ve been in this exact same place for days now. How do you expect to get anywhere by staring into space?”

He doesn’t understand. It’s not that easy to catch the right word, line, paragraph before it disappears into the ether. “Brilliance takes time,” I tell him.

He snorts. “Pardon me, I didn’t realize you had such high aspirations. Still, you’re not get any younger–“

“Hey,” I…

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An Amused Muse? Or So I Hope…

The first conversation with the muse(s) from the multi-talented Trent.

Trent's World (the Blog)

I took a deep breath.  The smell of new electronics hung in the air, giving me some inspiration. My fingers reached down.  A modern synth-string sound emanated from the studio speakers.  Yes, modern, and yet the strings had a certain sizzle that spoke of the late 1970s.  I had spent over an hour getting the sound just how I wanted it.

I listened closely, with my body as much as my ears.

Perfect.

My fingers changed position on their own, so I had a G in the bass. My left hand was also playing a D, with a Bb, D, F and A in the right hand. The smoldering G minor 9th chord just oozed that downtown, cool jazzy feeling. You know the one.

I shifted, without thinking to B Major 7.  Yeah, a quick pivot on the Bb/A#.  It felt right, and better yet, with that sizzling string…

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Meet the Muse (prompt)

Adobe Stock image

I’m reading a page-turner in my writing room when I hear conversations below me in the muddy track called “my driveway.” Nobody ever ventures up this mountain besides the solitary UPS driver, and this sounds like a crowd. I peek out the window.

Muses. Lots of muses. What the…?

They fall silent and, as one, swivel to stare at me. Expectant. It appears a decision has been made.

One of them breaks from the pack, and I can’t help but groan. The Mercenary Muse (once subcontracted by my Bossy Muse) starts up the rain-slick stairs.

I open the door and look up, way up. The muse is a hulk, and he smells like a battlefield after a month long campaign. He bares his teeth in a sneer as if I’m the one who needs a shower.

My Mercenary Muse (aka Discipline). Artwork by Peter Pham

“Where’s my regular muse?” I ask.

“In the ocean.” He tracks muddy prints on my floor and sits on a granite throne that appears in front of my couch. “She’s trying out your next book.”

“Oh really?” I arch my eyebrow and get a little huffy. “You’d think the author would have a say in the next story. What is she, a pirate or a mermaid?”

“A sea witch.” His grin is disturbing, though not as horrifying as his skimpy little outfit. I wish he’d close his legs. Yeesh. “I’m the Ferryman,” he adds.

My eyes snap up, and I blurt out a laugh. “Oh, no, you’re not.”

“Don’t defy a muse.” He glowers through the warning. “I am the Ferryman.”

“Gah!” I lean into his face, nose to crooked nose, angry enough to risk his breath. “No chance, big guy, not unless you submit to a complete makeover. Otherwise, forget it.”

“You’re the author.” He settles back in this throne with a smug smile and picks something from his teeth.

Artwork by Victor Nizovtsev

I wrinkle my face and cross my arms like a petulant… author. A Ferryman? And a Sea Witch? Am I actually considering this? I want to throw up but change the subject instead, “So, who are those muses, and what do they want? Don’t tell me they want scenes in the next book.”

He grunts to the negative. “They want some publicity for their authors, and I told them you’d help.”

My eyes narrow. “How?”

The brute leans forward, elbows on his knees. I’m tempted to hand him a toothbrush and bottle of mouthwash. He ignores my grimace. “They’re going to have conversations with their writers, and you’re going to reblog the posts.”

I tap a finger on my lower lip, considering the idea. The last time my blog friends joined in was a blast. And wonderfully creative.

I extend my hand. “Agreed.” We grasp each other’s forearms like warriors, and I squeak as my bones grate together.

“Agreed.” He lets go and heads for the door. “And I want your plot outlined by the end of the month.”

“But… but I’m not done with my reading challenge and now…”

If looks could squash me like a bug, I’d be plastered to the wall. He stomps down the stairs and joins the other muses. His throne fades away, and I peer out the window as the crowd disperses into the rain. I better get a post ready.

Here are the rules:

Post a conversation with your muse on your blog and link back to this post or leave a link in the comments. Don’t have a muse? Just open the door and see who shows up.

No word-limit and keep it family friendly. Include an image of your muse if you’re inclined (with respect for copyrights, please). I’ll reblog all posts received before December 1st. Thanks for playing… Meet the Muse!

Snow Child #Tanka Tuesday

Illustration by John Bauer via Pixabay

I had the great honor of choosing the image for Colleen’s syllabic poetry challenge this week. So, of course, I had to play.

This is a crown cinquain. Each of the five stanzas has five lines of 2/4/6/8/2 syllables.

Snow Child

Winter

frees her fair hair

hushed in her reflection

by the sparrow’s river she kneels

entranced

she wills

doves to gather

on the night’s bare branches

as autumn yields its golden crown

to cold

she weaves

her white tresses

into lace coverlets

unfurls across the towhee’s nest

her gift

magic

silvers the boughs

stirred by the horned owl’s wing

in flight between the evergreen

she waits

snow child

whispers a hymn

rapt by her own beauty

tranquil in the holy dawn of

winter